


In Between

by ister



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Betaed, Fluff, Multi, Team Bonding, travelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 16:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13058148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ister/pseuds/ister
Summary: Gaby looks down, feeling the same isolated loneliness she always feels when she hears people discuss foreign destinations. “I’ve never been outside of Berlin.” Illya and Solo exchange a look she can’t read.





	In Between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [canardroublard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/canardroublard/gifts).



> I had such a hard time settling for one of your requests, so I picked two. I hope you like the fic!
> 
> All of this would've been a complete chaos if it weren't for my lovely beta [Anna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/takingoffmyshoes), who is just amazing and overall awesome. Thank you so so much for your help! It means a lot.

Gaby sighs and does everything in her power to at least appear happy. The worst part isn’t having to hang on to Kuryakin’s arm as he plows ahead, and it isn’t his height, either (although a few inappropriate jokes do pop into her head from time to time and she has to bite her lip to stifle an immature snort). No, the worst part is being stuck on a plane with a complete stranger who seems inclined to murder anyone with the sheer intensity of his angry stare.

They look more like a couple ready to part ways forever than a couple in love and ready to spend the rest of their lives together. She scoffs. As if.

Kuryakin looks up from his book and shoots her a questioning look. She just waves it off, scrunching down further into her seat and trying to ignore the painful twinge in her gut. It’s hard to tell what he’s reading since the title is in Russian.

Kuryakin just furrows his brows and focuses on his book again. _Illya_ , she reminds herself, _Illya_. It would raise too much suspicion to call him by his last name.

“So we’re really going to do this?” she asks and gets an annoyed huff in response.

“What are you talking about?”

“Pretending we’re an engaged couple?” she tries again.

“Yes,” he says shortly, and seems content to leave it at that.

Gaby crosses her arms in displeasure and contemplates simply getting up and leaving. She’d do more than contemplate, too, if it weren’t for the thought of having to go back behind the wall. As much as she loves being a mechanic, she wants nothing more than to leave this place behind.

“You’re no fun, you know that?” she tries again, looking at Kuryakin.

“Missions are not supposed to be fun. Do you not have something else to do?”

“I could look out of the window,” she tries, with a pointed glance at the small window mostly obscured by his body as he hunches over his book.

“This is my seat.”

“You’re reading,” she protests. “You don’t need a window seat to read!”

“Still my seat.”

Gaby bites back a curse and seethes. What an insufferable prick.

* * *

Italy is everything she expected it to be and yet completely surprising. Rome seems to hold all the secrets of the world, history seeping from every corner. The roads are always busy and bustling with life. She loves it – it’s so different from East Berlin, and she never wants to leave.

That’s why she almost stops Waverly from leaving the hotel as soon as she’s recovered from the news they just received. There is so much to see, so much to explore, and it pains her to leave it all behind so soon. In the end, she just watches Waverly walk away, feeling sad and bitter despite the relief of not having to go back to her old life.

“Istanbul then.” Solo looks at his glass of scotch as if it holds an universal answer to all of his questions. “Lovely around this time of the year.”

“You’ve been there?” she asks.

He nods. “A few times, but I never got the opportunity to go sightseeing.”

“It’s not my favourite city,” Illya contributes to the conversation.

“Oh, which one is it then?” Solo wants to know. “Saint Petersburg?”

Illya glares at him, but it’s clear he doesn’t mean it. There’s a vulnerability to him she hasn’t seen before. “No. Triest.”

“That’s a good choice.” Solo actually smiles at him. He looks so beautiful, despite his bruises, that it takes her breath away. “Mine’s probably Barcelona.”

Gaby looks down, feeling the same isolated loneliness she always feels when she hears people discuss foreign destinations. “I’ve never been outside of Berlin.”

Illya and Solo exchange a look she can’t read. The latter pushes himself of the railing, with an expression unique to him. Gaby has never seen it on another face, can’t even really describe it. “Don’t leave without me.”

“Where are you going?” Illya steps forward, ready to follow him to wherever he’s off to, or perhaps just hoping not be alone with her.

“I’m going to have a little chat with Waverly,” he answers. “No need to come along.” He winks at Gaby and strolls off.

“He’s going to get into trouble,” Illya mutters darkly.

“You know, I don’t think so,” Gaby says, unthinkingly echoing Solo’s words from just a few days ago, and looks at Illya.

Now that they are alone, she can feel the nervous tension radiating from him. The atmosphere has changed and suddenly, the sun burns far too bright, even though she’s wearing sunglasses.

They stare at each other for a long time, neither of them ready to break the silence. She thinks about the past few days, about their near-kisses and everything that has happened since she stepped onto the plane. Committing to a cause is one thing, but committing to a person a whole new thing altogether and she’s not ready to lose her freedom just yet.

* * *

Solo surprises both of them with his plan. They end up crammed into an ugly little car, the fourth seat always “taken” by their gear. At first, it’s Gaby doing all the driving, with Illya sitting in the passenger seat, but she soon gets tired of his silence. He’d said he understood her motives, but he still won’t look at her properly and it’s getting on her nerves.

Solo gets antsy two hours in and demands a stop in every small town they pass. She snaps at him at first, but when she sees how much he fiddles with his signet ring, she’s reminded of herself, trapped behind that wall, separated from her mother and her brothers.

Before her thoughts can spiral too far, she pulls into the small lot of a roadside store. Solo’s out of the car almost before it stops, and she has suppress a grin because he suddenly reminds her of her Papa’s fat wiener dog Waldi. He’s even inspecting everything with the same mixture of unmasked curiosity and trained boredom that the dog used to display.

In the evening, they decide to stop at a small hotel, nothing fancy like the one they stayed at in Rome but nice enough that Solo doesn’t whine. Solo forgoes his usual suit in favor of an expensive-looking shirt that shouldn’t fit him as well as it does. Illya stubbornly keeps his turtleneck, but they can convince him to leave the ridiculous cap in his room. He looks good too, if a little bit exhausted.

Surprisingly, their evening goes well. Solo even accompanies her to her room to finish the conversation they were having over dinner. He suggests that they continue the discussion – their favourite films – the next day, and she can’t help but smile at him.

She feels guilty then, for not telling them about her involvement with the MI-6. For pretending to be someone she’s not. It had been a job, but still. They had been honest with her, and she hadn’t returned the courtesy.

She confesses it to Solo three days later. They had decided to drive until they found a spot without light pollution, because Illya had seemed excited about the prospect of falling asleep with nothing but the stars above them. He’s dozing now, face scrunched up, not fully relaxed even in sleep, and Gaby decides to break the silence.

Solo grips the steering wheel a little bit tighter for a moment. “We all had to do things we didn’t want to,” he says finally. 

And she knows she's forgiven, in one way or another.

* * *

Their travels take them further south, to Pompeii and Herculaneum. Solo shows the other two around and tells stories neither of them have heard before. She isn’t fully convinced he’s not making them up, but he tells them with so much enthusiasm – and even in different voices – that she can’t be bothered to call him on it.

They’ve been getting along better since Gaby’s apology, even starting to joke with and rib at each other. Illya is puzzled for the first few days, but seems happy enough with the change. He’s become more tactile with both of them, and by the time they reach Istanbul, it’s normal for him to take them by the wrist or the elbow, gently pulling them along behind him when they linger too long for his liking.

She likes to look at them both and picture them slowly becoming friends. They still have a long way to go, but it’s a start. And when Solo gently pushes Illya through the crowd on the airport, a reassuring hand on his back to calm him, she figures her partners think the same.

Like Rome, Istanbul is a melting pot of different sounds, colours, scents, and flavours. She falls in love with the city instantly, leaving most of the mission work to Illya and Solo. There is a strangeness to it she can’t quite put her finger on until she stands in front of the Hagia Sophia. Solo is standing at her side, their shoulders brushing as he tells her a little bit of its history.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you all of it, because that would take us hours,” he says, a smile in his eyes, “and our dear Peril doesn’t seem inclined to stay any longer.”

“You talk too much,” Illya shoots back, but it doesn’t have any heat. He’s been staring at Solo’s lips for the past few minutes.

“Oh?” Solo says breezily. “So I shouldn’t answer your questions about the vikings, then?”

“You think you are so funny.”

“Actually, I am.”

Gaby leaves them to their bickering and lets her gaze wander. Now she knows what captivates her about the city: there’s so much ancient history hiding behind its walls, and it’s obvious that many cultures have left their marks. Some of the old spirits never left. She would love to spend more time here and seek those spirits out, but it’s Rome all over again and soon they have to leave for another mission, this one in a small Scottish village.

The sadness she feels when they board the plane lingers for a while, even with Solo’s arm pressed warmly against hers.

* * *

After half a year of chasing a mad scientist across the Scottish highlands – and the wonderful experience of Illya furiously shouting his pent-up frustration out over a loch – their next destination is Mombasa, another bright spot in her mind, another perfect opportunity for her partners to start bickering about where to go. It’s quite endearing to watch them, their banter far less hostile than it had been a few months ago. At this point, they’re a smoothly functioning team and ready for every challenge thrown at them.

From Edinburgh, they had flown back into Istanbul and driven to a smaller Turkish village at the Grecian border. Then Waverly sends them to Kenya for a mission so easy that it gets sidelined in favour of the coastal city’s bustling marketplaces and extraordinary buildings. Solo even manages to meet up with an old contact of his, who seems ready and willing to show them around.

Gaby doesn’t remember much of her first night in the city afterwards, but she figures it’s worth it. Solo’s laughter when she cracks a dry joke is startled and sincere, and Illya slings an arm around each of them as they walk home, singing a German drinking song with admirable gusto.

The next day, they wake up in a tangle of limbs, each of them with a splitting headache. “As if one of these wouldn’t be enough for all three of us,” Gaby complains.

Illya agrees and leans into her. A minute later, he’s fallen asleep again.

Hangovers aside, they manage to complete the mission without a hitch. To celebrate, Solo steals a car from their target (ignoring Illya’s protests, naturally) and drives them to the beach.

They have a lovely time, even though Illya manages to get a nasty sunburn on his back and won’t stop pouting for the rest of their stay. Solo spins her around again, throwing her in the water and laughing when she shrieks and starts chasing him. Illya, who’s retreated to the shadows, takes photograph after photograph and only smiles when they ask him what he got.

She doesn’t know who she wants to kiss first. Of course, Solo helps her decide and pecks her on the lips before moving on to Illya, who lets himself be soothed by gentle touches and the two smiles pressed against his neck.

* * *

“How can you say that?” Illya asks, scowling at Napoleon.

“The mission is boring, and there’s nothing we can do. It’s snowing and it’s cold and I’d rather spend the day inside, thank you very much.”

“But here’s nothing to do inside,” Illya protests.

Napoleon’s expression turns louche, and he smiles. “Oh, believe me, there’s so much you can do inside, Peril.” His tone turns innuendo dangerous, daring, and Gaby is very much up for the challenge.

He does that to her, much to Illya’s annoyance. “I cannot always save both of you,” he likes to say.

Napoleon and Gaby like to wave it off.

“But—”

Napoleon just wiggles an eyebrow and Illya gives up, storming outside and slamming the door so hard the frame rattles. Gaby doesn’t comment on it, but sinks deeper into the couch.

She’s glad they don’t have to go outside, even though she would’ve loved to see more of Rheims. The way Illya had described it had almost sounded romantic.

Today marks their first anniversary as a team and despite various near-death situations and the occasional fight, she can’t picture her life without them in it. Of course Illya had wanted to make the day special, waking them both up with gentle kisses and the promise of a freshly prepared breakfast. As with everything, he should have expected the unexpected when it came to Napoleon, because their partner was nothing if not willing to keep both of them in bed as long as possible.

“Don’t you want to go after him?” Napoleon asks and rattles her out of her thoughts.

She just shrugs. “No, let him cool off a little bit.”

He hums lowly and sits down beside her. When he lifts his arm, she snuggles up against him.

His hair free of product, dressed in one of Illya's sweaters that clings to his chest just right, he looks quite relaxed and unwilling to move. “I don’t know why he’s so against sitting down,” Gaby says.

“Maybe he thinks it’s indecent.” Napoleon presses his cheek against her hair. It’s an endearing habit he’s picked up, almost like a cat demanding more cuddles.

“Are you planning on getting indecent with me, Mr. Solo?” she asks playfully.

“Oh, I plan on doing a lot of things with you, Ms. Teller.”

She can actually feel his smirk against her head. “Then you’d better start; we don’t want to traumatise poor Illya.”

He chuckles and pokes her side. “You wish.”

With a squawk, she smacks his hand away. Of course, she has to poke him in return and when he yelps and jerks away from her, she tackles him. They end up in a mock-wrestling war, each trying to get the upper hand.

This is how Illya finds them when he steps into their shared apartment again. Gaby doesn’t up from her position, still stradling Napoleon. “Take that.”

“No, mercy! Please, have mercy!” he gasps, and tries to grab her wrists. “Peril, save me, she’s trying to kill me!”

“My money’s on her” is the only thing Illya contributes to the conversation before he vanishes into the kitchen.

“A fine excuse for a partner you are!” Napoleon yells after him, but doesn’t get a reply.

Gaby takes advantage of his momentary inattentiveness to redouble her attack. When he yells at her to stop and promises to cook for the rest of their stay, she lets go of him. Rheims is starting to become her new favourite place.


End file.
